


Lessons in Etiquette

by monimala



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: F/M, So Wrong It's Right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 03:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16694725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: Set in fall of 2018, as Ben and Claire plot to break up Tripp and Ciara. There is no plot. This is purely because Claire is hilarious and Robert Scott Wilson and Olivia Rose Keegan have chemistry.





	Lessons in Etiquette

 

Claire Brady never stops talking. He’s tried everything. Telling her to shut up. Glaring at her with his best Menacing Serial Killer glare. Looming over her with his best Serial Killer Loom. None of it works. The words just jet out of her like a geyser, even when her big blue eyes are saucer-wide with fright. He’d be impressed if he weren’t so annoyed. The girl has no filter, no ‘off’ button. No sense of self-preservation. Because, let’s face it, he’s not exactly Salem’s most popular conversation partner and yet here she is, spouting off like her strangulation isn’t imminent. Maybe this is how _she_ kills people. By talking them to death.

“How many?” he wonders, rocking back on his heels.

“Huh?” Her brows wing together. She actually stops mid-tirade about Tripp and Ciara and frowns at him. “How many what?”

Ben takes his time with the answer, mostly so he can enjoy the sweet, sweet sounds of silence as he does so. “How many people have died of boredom listening to you?”

“Ugh. That is so rude!” Her mouth drops open in shock. She reaches out to hit him…but immediately thinks better of it. Her fingers stop a good two inches from his shoulder before she yanks her hand back. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs, “At least they die of natural causes, and I’m not wasting money on neckties!”        

He has to laugh at her logic. At that amazing lack of filter that makes her brazen through any situation. Even ones where she should be terrified. “What makes you think I _bought_ the ties?”

“Please. Like  _you_ would own one?” She gives him a judgmental once-over, those ridiculous baby-doll blue eyes lingering on his t-shirt and jeans.

He has valid excuses for why he reacts to that look. Two years in a mental hospital with nothing but his hand for company. Sexual frustration over Ciara. The stiff Salem breeze. Couple that with a pretty girl looking at his crotch and of course he’s going to get hard, right?  

“Ew. Could you _try_ being a gentleman, Ben Weston?”

Of course, she notices. And, of course, she has to call it out. Because she’s Claire and that’s what she does. She was probably the kid in the story who pointed out the emperor had no clothes. And she’s probably cried wolf, too.

“Could you  _try_ being a lady?” He mocks her as he stalks her, walking her backward toward the park bench. Until she hits it with the backs of her knees and flinches. _That_ she flinches at. Not him, not his not-so-veiled threats or his temper. Not his hands sliding slowly around her throat.

“I don’t need ties to get the job done,” he assures softly.

When his thumb brushes over her pulse, he feels it jump and flutter. He watches her throat work as she swallows. As she breathes in and out. This close, her eyes are like high beams flashing across his face. So bright. Nearly blinding.   

Claire Brady never stops talking. Until this moment. With her glossy lips parted in shock. Her tiny fists coming up to beat at his chest or push him away or…or clench in his shirt. She grabs him tightly, stunning the hell out of him…and then stunning him again when she guides her fingers downward. Her right hand gliding across his stomach, over the rise of his zipper. She grasps his cock through the tight denim and squeezes. _Fuck_.

“Claire…what do you think you’re doing?” He cups the back of her neck, giving it his own warning squeeze as he tries to catch his breath. Two years. Frustration. Breeze. _Fuck_ , _fuck, fuck._

Her mouth curves into a smirk. The deceptively innocent blue of her eyes darkens with something that can only be classified as evil. “Still dying of boredom?” she wonders, her voice high and breathy and daring him.   

There’s a dozen more ways he can shut her up, Ben realizes in that instant. He can pull at her messy blonde hair. Force her to her knees. Gag her with his dick. Or bend her over the bench and fuck her until the only noise she makes is a series of desperate little gasps. Like he’s choking her over and over again. He wouldn’t need ties at all. His or anybody else’s.   

And she would let him do it. Because the girl has no filter, no ‘off’ button. No sense of self-preservation. Because she’s pressed up against him, calling him out, calling his bluff, crying wolf and seeing if his conscience comes running.    

Ben’s never been less bored in his life. 

“Still want me to be a gentleman?” he asks just before he lowers his head to kiss her.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Claire smiles up at him with a complete lack of fear and unzips his fly…and he knows his strangulation is imminent.  

 

 

-end- 

   


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